


drown quietly (and the world won't listen)

by Myrime



Category: Iron Man (Comics), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel
Genre: BAMF Edwin Jarvis, Bingo, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Crying, Don't copy to another site, Friendship, Gen, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt Tony, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Tony, Iron Man Bingo 2019, Kid Tony Stark, Protective Jarvis (Iron Man movies), Screaming, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, and gets it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-19 02:21:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18129671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myrime/pseuds/Myrime
Summary: “I’m sorry,” Tony whispers as quietly as he can. It is perhaps ironic, to apologize for talking too much by talking, but he does not know any other way and he needs to get this out now. Tony is sure he can remain silent all his life if Jarvis just keeps being his friend.- When Tony is allowed to come into Howard's workshop, he is beyond ecstatic, intent on not messing this up. He does not mean to get blood on his father's workbench. He does not mean to cry. He does not mean to be a failure. Again. Luckily, Jarvis is there to pick him up.





	drown quietly (and the world won't listen)

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for the Iron Man Bingo, square "Crying and Screaming."  
> Enjoy!

The engine is heavy. It is only a part of it, of course, for Tony could not possibly carry all the parts at once. Even so, his arms tremble as he takes one careful step after the other. He might be able to put the engine down earlier if he walked faster, but too many things litter the floor. If he stumbled and fell – well, the engine is too priceless to even consider.

Tony is halfway to where his father is working on the parts that Tony has already carried over, when he needs to take a break. He needs to be quick about it but being tardy is better than clumsiness, although neither will be tolerated. Tony is six years old already, after all, he knows better.

“Where are you, boy?” Howard calls, tapping the wrench he is holding against the surface of the workbench.

Trembling or not, Tony’s arms reach automatically for his heavy load again. He cannot mess this up. The last time he was allowed in here was a disaster. It is a wonder that Howard took him in again at all.

He walks faster than he should but he reaches his father without incident. An apology is already on his lips but he hesitates. Starks do not apologize, Howard often says, although he likes to make an exception for Tony apologizing to _him_. It is never quite clear when Tony is expected to do what. He guesses he is still too young – or too stupid – to understand.

“What took you so long?” Howard grunts but does not pay Tony any further attention. He all but rips the part out of Tony’s hands and gets back to working.

Tony rolls back on his heels, content to watch his father build. It is fascinating to him to see what older and cleverer fingers than his can create. He hopes that, one day, he will be as good as his father. If only he would be allowed to practice.

“What next?” Tony asks after several long minutes, trying not to sound too eager. Were it up to him, he could stand here for hours, simply watching. He is used by now to soothing the itching in his hands to keep them to himself. Howard does not like laziness, though, so if Tony wants to see anything at all, he should make himself useful.

Looking up, Howard’s face takes on a distinctly irritated expression. He does not like being interrupted either. There are so many rules Tony needs to keep track of, he keeps messing up more often than not.

“Take that apart,” Howard says, pushing some complicated looking part towards him. It has Tony immediately excited, eager to find out how it works. “Not even you should be able to fuck that up.”

Nodding in agreement, Tony picks up his treasure and sits down on the ground a good few feet away. Howard’s tools are too big for him, but Howard took away the smaller ones Jarvis got him, telling Tony that work is not playtime and he should not waste time on using tools he will soon outgrow.

For a while, they work in almost harmonic silence. Every now and then, Howard mutters something under his breath or takes a sip from the bottle that is never far from his side, but he does not throw anything or has to remind Tony how to do the most basic steps of working with engines again. It is nice. Maybe things are getting better, Tony thinks, maybe _he_ is getting better.

A sharp pain rips him out of his musings. The pleasant feeling in Tony’s chest vanishes abruptly when he looks down at his hand and sees blood welling up from a large cut. _Stupid_ , he curses himself. He should not have gotten distracted. It turns out he is not getting better. He is just as clumsy and useless as he has always been, and likely always will be.

Tony bites his tongue as he contemplates what to do. His father gave him a task but now there is blood dripping to the floor. It hurts, too, more the longer Tony stares at the cut. He should not be a sissy but –

Before he can think it completely through, Tony’s legs are moving.

“Dad?” he tries cautiously, hoping his father will have time.

“What now? Didn’t I give you something to do?” Howard asks, barely looking up from what he is doing.

Like an offering, Tony raises his hand, holds it out between them, all the while trying to swallow the whimper rising in his throat. He realizes that he has not succeeded the moment that Howard whips up his head, lips already curled into a snarl.

Howard does not say anything at first, however, but merely stares, taking in the cut and the way Tony stands. A drop of blood falls between them, splashing on the grey surface of the table. Almost faster than Tony can see, Howard moves and slaps Tony’s injured hand away.

“Don’t make a mess,” he shouts, but Tony cannot listen.

He is cradling his hand to his stomach, his eyes burning at the aggravated pain. A sob falls from his lips but he is too far gone to care.

“It hurts, Dad,” Tony whispers. Rationally, he knows that admission will not do anything but make his father angry but all other thoughts are struck from his mind.

“Then take it like a man,” Howard says coldly. “I didn’t raise a girl.”

Tony is not old enough to be a man yet, though. He is not big or strong or tough enough, and he does not know how to make himself grow faster. Unable to stop it, Tony feels a tear run down his cheeks. He ducks his head, but he knows Howard has already seen it.

“Starks don’t cry,” Howard bellows, leaning down so that his breath whips Tony’s cheek. Alcohol burns in Tony’s nose.

More sobs come that Tony is not able to keep back. He tries to straighten, but Howard is close enough that Tony takes a step backwards. He stumbles over something and falls to the ground. All of him hurts.

“Shut up, boy,” Howard orders, and Tony wishes he could comply.

The day began so wonderfully. He thought everything would turn out well if only he could prove to his father that he could be of some help in the workshop, that he is not useless after all. Now, though, he proved Howard right all over again.

“But,” Tony says and clamps his lips shut too late. The most important rule is to never argue with Howard. He cannot even do that right.

“You’ve never had anything to cry about in your life, boy,” Howard says, coming closer until he looms over Tony, making him feel smaller than ever. “So you better stop before I give you something real to cry about.”

Immediately, all air leaves Tony’s lungs, taking all sound with it. He remembers the last time he ignored a warning like that, and the pain in Tony’s hand pales in remembrance of what happened then.

“Well, you’re not completely hopeless, at least,” Howard says with more scorn than approval, but at least he has lowered his voice. “Now get out of my sight. And I better not hear a single sound from you for the rest of the day.”

Howard barely waits until Tony frantically nods his head before he turns back to his work. With an expression of disgust, he wipes the drop of Tony’s blood away with some oil-stained rag.

Still holding onto his injured hand, Tony climbs slowly to his feet, trying to be as quiet as possible. Again he is too slow.

“What are you still doing here, boy?” Howard asks, tethering on the edge of losing his patience.

That is a tone Tony knows too well. Holding his breath as to not accidentally make a sound, he flees.

 

* * *

 

Jarvis finds him while he is trying to bandage his hand. The worry on his face is soothing in its own way, and not only because it is the clearest indicator that Howard is not around. Appearances are important, or so Jarvis has taught Tony, so they cannot behave like friends when Howard is around.

“What happened, young sir?” Jarvis asks, hurrying closer.

He takes Tony’s hand in his own, turns it to get a better look. The cut has stopped bleeding. It does not even look so bad anymore, probably does not even need stitches.

Tony wants to tell Jarvis that, but when he opens his mouth, no sound comes out. It should be all right, Howard is down in the workshop and cannot hear him, but he does not want to risk it. His father is always annoyed when Tony talks. It only occurs to Tony now that others might think the same.

His mum is not around often enough to know just how _much_ Tony can be. Poor Jarvis, however, has to bear Tony all day long.

“I’m sorry,” Tony whispers as quietly as he can. It is perhaps ironic, to apologize for talking too much by talking, but he does not know any other way and he needs to get this out now. Tony is sure he can remain silent all his life if Jarvis just keeps being his friend.

“What for?” Jarvis asks, frowning. He is still holding gently onto Tony’s hand.

There is so much to choose from that Tony would barely know where to start even if he could speak freely. For staining his shirt, for starters. For upsetting Howard. For making more work for Jarvis. For being clumsy and needy and too loud. For being himself.

Tony shrugs but keeps looking at Jarvis, hoping that he will understand that Tony knows, he just cannot say it.

“Does your throat hurt?” Jarvis asks, full of patience. When Tony shakes his head, he adds, “Did something happen at the workshop with your father?”

Well, it happened because Tony is no good at what he was doing, because he let himself be distracted by how nice the future could be instead of concentrating on building it. Still, he nods weakly. It is not Howard’s task to make sure that Tony does not harm himself by being stupid, after all. Starks should be better than that.

“Did your father forbid you to speak?”

Tony almost shakes his head. He is not supposed to make any noise at all, but he barely knows how to do that. Every breath he takes is deafening in his own ears, every heartbeat thundering. As usual, he is already failing at the simplest of tasks. Shame burns in his cheeks, but since he is too afraid to admit that, Tony nods again.

“All right,” Jarvis sighs but does not sound angry with Tony. He never is. “Let’s clean this up and then we’ll go to your room. Nobody will hear us there, even if we dragged your mother’s piano there and let monkeys jump up and down on it.”

The picture is so hilariously impossible that a giggle escapes Tony’s lips, if only for a second until Tony remembers himself and cuts it off. Jarvis never stops smiling, though, so Tony guesses he is still safe.

Tony makes no sound while Jarvis cleans the cut first with water then antiseptic, although it hurts. He holds still when Jarvis wraps a bandage around his wrist, although he knows he should take it off again for dinner, for his father will surely see it as a sign of weakness, and Tony is trying to be better.

Then they are done and Jarvis offers Tony his hand. Together they go to hide in Tony’s room. Only when the door is safely closed behind them does Tony allow himself to breathe normally again.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” Jarvis asks as they sit down on the bed next to each other.

“I messed up,” Tony admits quietly, picking at his bandage. No matter how hard he tries, he cannot sound unaffected. He ruined a good day, just like he always does.

Piece by piece, the whole story stumbles out, and while Tony tries to keep his voice low, it still echoes in his head, so he carefully watches Jarvis’ face for any sign of annoyance. It never comes. Then again, Howard never looks mad when they are in public either, even though he starts shouting the moment they return home.

Jarvis has never hurt him, though. Even at six, Tony knows that is not the most glowing of assessments. Jarvis is so much more. Tony knows a lot of words, but he has not yet found a word worthy of describing Jarvis.

“I think we should do something loud,” Jarvis says when Tony is done talking. There is no judgement in his tone for what either Tony or Howard have done. He never judges. Otherwise, Tony is sure, they would not be friends.

“But I can’t,” Tony protests, glancing nervously at the door, even though his father is down in the basement. “Dad said he doesn’t want to hear a single sound from me.”

Jarvis nods but never loses his gentle smile. “And we established that he won’t be able to hear us up here.”

Somehow, Howard always knows when Tony has done something wrong, however. Sometimes he knows even before Tony does something. It must be a superpower. Or Tony is simply bad all the time.

“I should probably practice being quiet,” Tony says, upset that he has to turn Jarvis down. He is trying so hard, though, and one day Howard will have to see that.

“Do you want to be quiet?” Jarvis counters, as if what Tony wants is really an option. He is still too young to know what is good for and expected of him, after all.

Tony shrugs. “I want Dad to stop being mad at me,” he finally says. That is not a no, but it is not quite a yes either.

“You can’t be quiet all the time, though,” Jarvis points out.

That is true. Sometimes Tony needs to solve equations for his father, sometimes Obie wants him to explain some blueprints. Sometimes the press is asking him questions and he needs to answer them the way he has been told to.

Still, Tony says, “Dad says I should.” Perhaps Howard means that Tony should only be quiet when he is around, when he is working or eating or lecturing Tony. That would make sense. Perhaps the ‘no sound’ rule is only a temporary thing. Almost excited, he remembers something else Howard told him once. “He said I should only talk when I have something important to say.”

Jarvis nods as if Tony has just solved a difficult puzzle. If there is something sad to the curve of his lips, Tony thinks he must imagine it. “Well, I think everything you say is important.”

Instinctively, Tony shrinks back, glancing at the door. He knows it is wrong to go against what Howard says, and Jarvis has just called him all but a liar. At the same time, he wants to desperately believe that Jarvis is right, wants his own words not to be insignificant, the sounds he makes not to be a bother.

“But Dad –” Tony says, out of habit. He stops willingly when Jarvis interrupts him.

“Isn’t here.” Jarvis’ face becomes almost mischievous, which is enough to intrigue Tony. “Here’s what we’re going to do.” Reaching behind himself, Jarvis picks up one of Tony’s pillows and pushes it into Tony’s arms, then gets another one for himself.

“Hold your pillow like this.” Jarvis raises it up to his head, then pressed his face into it, burying himself almost completely in it for a moment. “And then scream as loud as you can.”

Tony, who has been following Jarvis’ instructions up until that point, lets his arms and the pillow fall limply back into his lap, staring incredulously and quite a bit afraid at Jarvis.

“What if somebody hears?” he asks, wondering whether doubt will cause Jarvis to get to his feet and give up on Tony, although he has never done so before.

“They won’t. That’s what the pillow is for,” Jarvis reassures him easily. “But you will hear. It will help you find your voice again.”

That is a silly thing to say. Tony has never lost his voice after all, he has just been told to use it sparingly – or better not at all. He knows how he sounds, he knows how to speak. It would likely help more to learn how to interact with the world without talking. He does not say that, however, because Jarvis is likely trying to teach him something here, and Tony does not want to disappoint him, no matter that Jarvis’ effort is likely wasted on Tony.

Very slowly, he raises the pillow back up. It is uncomfortable to press his face against it so hard, but he does not want to risk too much sound escaping. Once he is sure the pillow is secure, when he can barely breathe anymore, Tony screams. It ends up more of a drawn out syllable, slightly above speaking volume.

“Like this?” Tony asks, both eager to be done with this and to have done well. He does not feel like he has found his voice again yet.

“Almost,” Jarvis says. “Just a bit louder. Let me show you.”

And then Jarvis, impeccable, always collected Jarvis, takes a deep breath and buries his face in his pillow and screams into it, loud enough that Tony feels the trembles of his body right to his own core. So loud that Tony looks at the door again, fearing that Howard will storm through it any moment now.

Then again, for how forceful Jarvis must have screamed, it was not very loud at all. With as small a body as Tony has, he cannot possibly be as loud as Jarvis, so it should be all right, even if he poured all his strength into it.

Once Jarvis emerges from the pillow, looking strangely satisfied, Tony is eager to try again. Without further ado, he presses his face back against the pillow. It takes only a little bit courage to open his mouth this time and just scream.

His whole body loosens into the movement, leaning forward, following the sound. He comes up too quickly, needing air, but then he remembers Jarvis taking a deep breath before he screamed, and tries again. This time, he is even louder and the scream lasts longer.

It feels good, weirdly so. He is doing something forbidden and gives it his best. He is letting go, just like that.

This time when he takes down the pillow, Tony is smiling widely, feeling only happier when Jarvis smiles back.

“Very good,” he congratulates, and Tony can only nod in agreement. “And now we’re going to go down to the kitchen and you will tell me something about everything you see.”

Just like that, tension creeps back in as Tony’s smile slides off slowly. Screaming up in the safety of his own room is one thing, but openly defying Howard’s order out in the open is another altogether. Anyone could be walking in on them. Howard usually does not come into the kitchen, but he has the habit of not doing what Tony expects – not when he is hoping for the best at least. They should not risk it.

“Why?” Tony asks. Jarvis only wants what is best for him, after all, so he will have his reasons.

Jarvis shifts his position until they face each other and Tony cannot easily look away. “Because you have a bright mind, Master Tony, and you deserve to be heard, even if Sir isn’t ready to listen,” Jarvis says like there is no doubt in his mind, like Tony does not disappoint everybody he meets. “One day he will be ready, and I don’t want you to forget how to make yourself heard by then.”

Tony does not know what to say to that, whether to call Jarvis out on lying to make Tony feel better about himself, or to simply nod and accept it like he does when Howard talks. Howard does not usually have anything nice to say about Tony, of course.

Looking down at the pillow in his lap, Tony makes a decision. Jarvis has never failed him before, so it would be madness not to trust him. So Tony nods his acquiescence, but asks, “Can I scream into my pillow again before we go?”

When Jarvis’ face brightens, Tony knows he has done the right thing. “As often as you need to,” Jarvis says, sounding proud. Then he raises his own pillow. “Together?”

And together they shout Howard’s words away.  

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think!


End file.
